


When Things Are Good

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort Sex, Dragon Age II - Act 3, Dragon Age II Quest - Questioning Beliefs (Act 3), Drinking, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Hawke and Anders are only there for like a hot second but I’ll tag them regardless, Hurt/Comfort, No Strings Attached
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:15:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: “Which do you want? If you even want one,” Isabela mutters, hands turning over each bottle to read the labels. “You strike me as a red kind of man.”Fenris smiles at the correct guess and walks up to look over her shoulder. “That one is quite nice. Very sweet, if you like that sort of thing.” It’s too sweet for his tastes, which is why it’s managed to last here all these years. He knows Isabela likes ale, but perhaps that will also do.Isabela tosses a glance over her shoulder before moving onto another bottle. “I rather like things really bitter, actually.”
Relationships: Fenris & Isabela (Dragon Age), Fenris & Male Hawke, Fenris/Isabela (Dragon Age), Minor Male Hawke/Anders
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	When Things Are Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [m_rosenkov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_rosenkov/gifts).



> For our own personal rare pair trade I wrote some fwb act 3 fenbela for my dear friend May. ❤️ These two could help each other so much, I wish I saw more content about it.

Hands, slicked red against a bright pulsing light, shake before his eyes. There is no life in the body crumpled on the ground in front of him. There is only a deafening silence surrounding him in a place usually loud. Her voice, his sister’s, speaks out to him. She calls him that name again: Leto. She gives her defense just barely, and without blinking he is somehow also wrapped around her. 

A pulse flutters weak in her throat and as he starts to squeeze, he hears Hawke. 

“Don’t,” He says, with a heavy step creaking the broken floorboard beneath him as he reaches forward. “Don’t, Fenris.” 

Recognition and realization washes over him for a moment, dripping like the blood from his hand onto the floor. Hawke, who has no family left here himself, is pleading with him to spare his traitor of a sister. Hawke who calls him his name. 

“She sold me out. She tried to have  _ me _ killed,” Fenris argues, watching his sister’s pupils dilate in fear, “All to become one of them. A  _ magister _ . Why shouldn’t I?” 

Nails tug into Fenris’ shoulder, and with a cautious look back, he finds eyes he didn’t expect. Brown, deep with a sad understanding, and belonging to Isabela. She doesn’t speak, only pulls a little harder trying to get him to release his hold. 

“You’re free,” she whispers. 

Her tone sits in something that Fenris can only describe as familiar. Not in that it is something he’s heard before, but that this is a situation that isn’t new to the woman holding him. That at one point she likely said those words to herself after becoming free.  _ I’m free. _

Fenris’ hand uncurls, dropping the now stranger to the ground before turning back. He finds Hawke still standing cautiously, staff safety tucked against his back, with Anders’ the same, and for a moment distaste curls on his tongue. It begs him to bite. To yell about what will likely always bring him pain, regardless of the no longer beating heart that rests on the floor against the stairs. 

Instead, he swallows it and looks to Isabela again. Her eyes are still low, with a hand that twisted to move with him still sitting on his arm. She gives a soft squeeze in test before letting go to rejoin the others again. 

“I—” Fenris starts, begging his wildly beating heart to settle, “Thank you. For helping me do that.” 

Hawke smiles. That large goofy grin the mage always seems to wear, regardless of how much he tries to wear him down. He sighs and says, “Of course. We’re your friends, Fenris.” 

Though he doesn’t believe that applies without reservation to  _ everyone _ standing here, Fenris knows Hawke is right. Where he once had no one, he now has many. Where he was once owned, he is now free. 

“I need some time to process this, I’m sorry. But thank you. Thank you for being my friend,” Fenris starts, wringing his hands free of blood. “Even if you are a mage.” His lip quirks up into an unwilling smile, and Hawke breaks open into a laugh. 

It earns knitted brows and a mutter from Anders, but even beneath that Fenris can see a softened resolve. They’re  _ all _ relieved it’s over; that Fenris is free. A fact in and of itself makes the mage’s demeanor a little easier to swallow. If only for tonight. 

As the others turn to leave, Fenris can only stand and watch them go. He remains frozen as his feet still haven’t figured out how to move. It’s like they’re tingling with low electricity, yet no mage has his hold on him. Focusing towards the only two in the room, he watches Anders walk no more than an inch from Hawke’s arm. 

He’s no doubt nervously tutting as he heals him. What a waste. 

“I think it’s cute,” Isabela responds. “Not a waste at all when it gets Anders to keep that staff somewhere other than up his ass.” 

Fenris’ eyes widen for a moment. “I said that outloud?” 

Isabela laughs, hand curling up against her mouth. “Yes… you did. Now, you could use a bath—and a drink. Maybe, bathe in wine. I guess you can decide that once we get you home.”

_ Home. _ Where is that now exactly? Is it truly the mansion? Or is it as Hawke said all those years ago? Somewhere new, waiting for Fenris to make it. He doesn’t know. 

“I don’t think there are enough bottles for me to bathe in, sadly,” Fenris sighs, readjusting his sword against his back. It’s weight is both heavier and lighter at the same time, each feeling pulling him in opposite directions. “But, we can’t find that out here, can we?” 

Their walk back to the mansion is surprisingly quiet. Only sound being Isabela’s hum, paired with a rhythmic scuffing of her feet against stone. The song isn’t one that Fenris knows, but it’s nice to hear on a night like this. One in which he could easily have lost himself to in mere seconds, leaving him no doubt reeling for hours after. 

Even with exhaustion weighing on his shoulders, Fenris knows he likely won’t sleep tonight. 

There will be too many thoughts, too many fears, all bundled up beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Silence of the halls will haunt him, along with the portraits that line the gallery. It will all have to change if he ever wants to find peace. But that is a task for another day. 

Stopping before the door, Isabela turns with hands clasped behind her back. They rest against the soft dip in her spine, curled around each other. Fenris’ eyes follow the line of her body without thought, stopping only when he hears her throat clear. 

“I apologize, I—” Fenris starts but is cut off by the warm laugh floating from Isabela’s lips. “Is something funny?” 

“You are, of course. Acting like I can’t see you and then acting like I mind. There have been far worse eyes on me before, and likely will be again, but you are not one of them,” Isabela explains, turning to rest against the door. 

Fenris huffs in disbelief and Isabela’s eyebrows raise before a smirk curls her lips. “You saw what just happened right? You see the stains on our clothes? None of that makes me a pair of ‘bad eyes’?” 

Again, Isabela laughs, but instead of responding she simply turns the handle behind her back before pushing in a step. Fenris would ask how she did that, but he doesn’t have to. It’s how she gets anything open while they’re on the road: that damned sharpened hair pin. He can only follow, locking the door and checking the handle twice, as she trots into the foyer. 

The candles against the entry are dim, leaving little light left to dance across the broken tile. Still, beneath it she shines. Gold against her ear and bodice, driven further by the warm color of her skin. People stare at her because she’s beautiful, and Isabela is under no impression otherwise. 

It’s nice to see, especially given the women Fenris grew up around. Ones that only dressed the way they did for their master. Ones that had no freedom to love themselves much less others. He himself never thought he would get the chance either. Yet here he is, following her as she jumps up the stairs two at a time: free. 

“Now where do you keep it?” 

Fenris watches as Isabela flits into one of the side rooms, rummaging in the dark. He knows that isn’t where it is, but watching her is taking his mind off things, if only a little. She leans back up in a huff, blowing hair away from her face that fell free of her bandana. A line of thinking seems to pass through her as she turns and walks with a new purpose. One that poses correct as she pushes into the estate bedroom, hands roaming the walls. With a subtle knock against stone, the cellar opens, revealing bottles upon bottles of wine. None quite as expensive as the one he shared years ago with Hawke—but nothing to sniff at either. 

“Which do you want? If you even want one,” Isabela mutters, hands turning over each bottle to read the labels. “You strike me as a red kind of man.” 

Fenris smiles at the correct guess and walks up to look over her shoulder. “That one is quite nice. Very sweet, if you like that sort of thing.” It’s too sweet for his tastes, which is why it’s managed to last here all these years. He knows Isabela likes ale, but perhaps that will also do. 

Isabela tosses a glance over her shoulder before moving onto another bottle. “I rather like things really bitter, actually.” 

Fenris gives a sharp hiss as he sucks in air designated for a laugh. As he leans back up, he feels exhaustion fall on him once more, so he leaves her to her decision. Tugging his sword off his shoulders, he props it against the wall next to the bed before flopping against the mattress. It bends, groaning beneath his weight, and makes the planks that support it shift. Regardless of how nice it was when Denarius bought it, many years have passed now. He’ll need to replace it soon. 

The velvet lining of the canopy above him is also showing its age, dulled with dust and years. How many restless nights has he spent in this room staring up at it? Each one certain that he was going to be caught in the middle of the night, made to fight for his life alone. That red being not a comfort nor a fear, but simply a spot to keep his focus on while he waited for sleep to take him against his will. 

A bottle drops against his stomach, stealing the rest of his thoughts. He looks up to find Isabela opening her own with a dagger before setting the blades on the bench resting at the bed’s end. She pulls his cork free too, humming at the scent after wafting the opening beneath her nose. 

“Good shit. Celebratory shit,” She confirms, handing Fenris his bottle back before lifting hers up against it. “To freedom.” 

Fenris knocks his bottle up against hers, causing a single sharp clink. “To freedom.” 

They both turn their bottles back against their lips, chugging for a moment. Fenris breaks away from his first, gasp soft as he pulls in a new breath. Isabela continues for a beat longer and when she releases it, a small drip of wine drips from where it collected against the corner of her mouth. Never to waste, she licks at the skin catching the rest flawlessly. 

“So what will you do now? Nothing is tying you here anymore. No more waiting for him to show. He did. He’s dead. You’re done. Right?” Isabela sinks to rest next to Fenris, sending her boots off across the room in two well placed kicks. 

“I don’t think it’s that simple anymore,” Fenris murmurs to the ceiling, tipping his bottle back to take another cautious sip. 

Isabela hums in question before falling back against the bed. Their shoulders rest only inches apart in a gap that grows smaller by the second. When skin touches skin, Fenris forces himself not to tense. 

Why would he? It’s just Isabela after all. 

“You could’ve left too. After everything that happened I was more than surprised.” Fenris presses his own heels against his boots, kicking them to the floor along with Isabela’s. 

The war with the qunari was nothing to sniff at, and if it were Fenris in her place he likely would’ve taken the chance to run. But perhaps the thing that kept her here is currently weighing on his own chest. Duty. 

“I—I couldn’t leave you all. Not yet,” Isabela says, curling her hands against her bodice into a tight hold. “Even though I stayed away… I knew if you really needed me I could still get to you. So, I didn’t leave. Was that stupid of me?” 

A spread of slow warmth licks at Fenris’ chest as the wine starts to blur his thoughts. “No. Not at all.” 

“I have a sneaking suspicion you feel the same.” 

Fenris turns to look at her then. Her gaze meets his at once, half lidded and pulled with a smile. She’s no fool, not by any mark, and to think she wouldn’t read him makes Fenris wonder just how strong the wine is. 

“You might be right. I just don’t know how I can leave with things the way they are now. It feels like we’re running into the rantings of a raving lunatic every day now—and  _ Hawke _ ,” Fenris grumbles, throwing a hand in the air. “Man doesn’t know when to shut up while he’s ahead!” 

Isabela laughs, “You’d think Aveline would’ve tied him up by now, but the bastard would probably take too much pleasure in it.” 

“Don’t remind me. He and that mage are just asking for it day in and out. If anything I have to keep them from burning the city down before Meredith or Orsino even get the chance.” Fenris leans up before tipping the bottle back again, chugging for a moment. The wine is dry and rich, but clouds his head like a summer storm. “Either way, I can’t go now.” 

Isabela reaches up, dragging a singular slow finger up Fenris’ arm. With it, he feels himself drawn back down beside her, with the rantings in his mouth falling away all at once. 

“I’m glad,” She whispers, rolling to rest against her stomach, “People like us… we’re different. The others have had to run before, that’s true, but not like we have. Not like we want to all the time, even when things are good.” 

Fenris feels the urge to clear his throat, but swallows it back. His eyes narrow, not in defiance or irritation, but rather focus. “It’s terrible that we have to have that understanding.” 

Isabela’s eyes fall, blinking slowly before her lips curve into a sad smile. There is more she isn’t saying, beneath everything she’s already revealed tonight. More that Fenris wants to hear, wants to hold, now that it can’t be taken so readily from his hands. The only question is: will she give it to him? Or will she want something back in return?

“You’re going to have a harder time falling asleep than you think, you know.” Isabela pushes herself up to sit, tucking her knees beneath her. Looking out into the hall, she draws the bottle up to her lips for a final time, downing the rest of what remains. Something seems to catch her eye before she turns back, holding the bottle out to Fenris. “I know you think you’re tired, and that you got it all out of your system, but if you think about it for a second you know that isn’t true.” 

Fenris waits, feeling for it against his shoulders, and can feel the buzz from before still lingering. It’s urging him to move. To hit something, to break a jaw, to be alive in a way that is fueled by fear and freedom. It’s not an uncommon feeling to sit on his skin, but tonight it feels sharp. Like if he doesn’t do something about it, it might just drive into his chest and fracture him further. Grabbing the bottle from her hand he lifts up and with his momentum sends the bottle across the room to shatter against the wall. 

Another is placed into his hand before he can even look back and it too goes forward with as much energy as he can bear. The sound of glass dances against his skin, freeing the nerves that worked their way beneath. His hand again reaches beside him, fingers curling in instinct, but within them doesn’t sit glass. Warmth of skin brushes against his own leaving Fenris to turn to look with a racing heart. 

Isabela’s arm is held in his grasp, but she doesn’t slip free. She only sits with questioning eyes that also seem to be providing an answer. They ask, “Do you want more?” What more is, Fenris cannot iterate past the shift of his hips against the bed. He leans forward, capturing her lips at once. A warm sigh floats between them as they push further onto the bed. Only when they reach the middle does Isabela pull back. 

“I don’t want you to do this unless you want to,” Isabela says, as she settles on top of Fenris’ hips. “Many have tried to chase their worries away across my skin, but it never takes. I just need you to know that.” 

Fenris nods slowly, hands tracing up her thighs until they meet the edges of her small clothes. “I know, but it can’t hurt either, can it?” 

A smile crawls across Isabela’s face before she pulls upward, tugging her tunic free from her body before tossing it on the floor. All that’s left is what rests against her hips, leaving her chest open and free. While they’re not exactly captured otherwise, Fenris can’t help but note how different they are like this. Fuller. Free.

“You’ve likely heard this a lot, but,” Fenris sighs, hand grazing higher until he cups her left breast. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.” 

Isabela laughs, same as before, but this time blush tugs against her cheeks. “Stop! I mean, you’re not wrong. I get told that every day by some new drunk at the bar, but none of them say it like  _ that. _ ” 

Fenris shrugs, thumb brushing up against her nipple, swirling for a moment before returning beneath. “I’m not trying to win you over. I have no reason to lie, neither do they I suspect, but I would feel remiss if I didn’t tell you at least once tonight.” 

A groan slips from Isabela’s lips as she leans forward, supporting herself against a single hand while the other works to tug the last of her clothes off. Once the thin fabric is against the floor, her hands make other work just as fast of Fenris’ clothes. His shirt is tugged free of his shoulders, along with his pants, and as her hands rest against his small clothes, she pauses. 

“I assume you want to just get down to it? I don’t exactly need foreplay, but if you require it—” Isabela murmurs, index finger tracing around the growing bulge between her thighs. 

“No, no, that’s—” Fenris starts to dismiss and is cut off as Isabela jerks the fabric away all at once, tearing it apart at the seam. “Alright, then.” 

Another laugh bubbles from Isabela’s chest as she tosses the scap to the side. Before Fenris can even readjust, her hand is around him. Her fingers curl with precision, stroking upwards slowly at first, but then quickening. It’s only when he’s achingly hard does she stop, smearing a soft shine against her thumb against his tip. It’s agonizingly masterful, and Fenris wants to kick himself by not doing this earlier. 

Leaning forward, she presses a kiss against his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His hands curl into her hips to steady both her and himself, but when she rocks them forward and he feels heat, he digs in. She doesn’t hesitate like the other experiences Fenris’ has had. There is no uncertainty in her movements as she shifts them downward, pressing herself apart and allowing him to slowly slip in. 

There is only heat, tight heat, that makes Fenris sigh against her and instinctually lift his hips. 

“Now, now, are you one of those that can’t stand someone on top?” Isabela croons as she pulls away, tracing a finger down Fenris’ chest, drawing against his muscles rather than his marks. “If you are, that’s going to make this difficult.” 

Fenris tries to roll his eyes, but they instead go backwards as they shut in pleasure. “Just don’t stop moving.” 

“Easy enough,” Isabela quips, rocking her hips forward again, leaning up just barely to allow herself to slip against him once more. 

They find their rhythm quickly; a fast give and take with hard hands and soft murmurs. Her nails dig into his thighs as she arches her back against him, panting around a smile. His own hands can’t seem to find their place. They float in a never ending search for somewhere to settle. Her thighs, her breasts, her ass, the bed sheets twisted into white knuckles, none can hold his attention long enough to stay. 

Heat wraps around his abdomen like a dull flame, growing with each breath that chokes from his mouth. She’s got him so close so quickly, but he knows she’s holding back. 

“You d-hont, have to go easy on me,” Fenris huffs, eyes prying open. He gets a glimpse of sweat covered skin and nearly comes right then. 

Isabela laughs, grinding a little harder down. It pulls a moan from Fenris’ throat, low and wavering, and if it were anyone else he might feel embarrassed. But there isn’t room for that with Isabela. No reason not to let go for the first time in years. 

“I’m just trying to give you a good time, and a good time doesn’t always mean that you can’t walk tomorrow,” Isabela nearly hums, rocking slower. “It means that you get a release. So, lets get there, shall we?” 

Fenris opens his mouth to respond, but only another moan escapes in place of words. She’s driving him towards the edge with no sign of dragging it out now. Heat that clenches tight with each rock forward. He gasps for air, twisting his hands into the bed beneath him as he comes. Knees jerk up as his body tenses and feels Isabela’s do the same around him. 

Only a soft sigh comes from her in confirmation before she lifts up off of him slowly. 

“You’ve really been holding it in, haven’t you?” It’s phrased like a question, but it might as well be a statement. 

“Perhaps,” Fenris sighs, pushing sweat soaked hair off his forehead. “Thank you.” 

Isabela smiles, leaning forward to place a single kiss on his chest. She follows it with her hand, pressing into him as if to seal it. “I’m glad you’re going to stick around,” she whispers. 

Fenris reaches up, placing a hand over hers before squeezing gently. Tonight could have gone a hundred different ways. Each one leading to yet another disappointment in his life. Instead, he found this reality. 

“I guess I can call Kirkwall my home now,” Fenris laughs, and the weight on his shoulders slides off along with Isabela off the bed. “Great.” 

“Greatest city in Thedas, you know. Happy to have you here,” Isabela says, walking towards the door. She stops, hip resting against the doorway, and smiles when Fenris gets up. Taking his hand, she winks before pulling them forward. “Just tell me you’ll let me help you redecorate. That portrait in the galley is such a mood killer.” 

“Maybe Hawke can set it on fire,” Fenris offers and Isabela’s lips twist further into a wicked grin as she laughs.

“That’s a good start.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter: @__moes__  
> Tumblr: @noswordstyle


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